


Saints and Sinners

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Internal Monologue, Light BDSM, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Elliot wanted was to feel safe, just for a little while. Even if it meant trusting Tyrell Wellick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints and Sinners

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Kariki on Tumblr as an anonymous gift <3\. Expanded and betaed now for AO3.

"I can make you feel safe," Tyrell had promised. "Not forever. But long enough."

Elliot knew it wasn't a lie, not least because he was struggling to think of a time where Tyrell had lied to him. Elliot had run into Tyrell often enough to notice that he could only act one part; if anything went against Tyrell's predicted script, he fell apart.

Elliot understood falling apart all too well.

"Okay."

It was as close as he could get to saying "Please". 

He didn't flinch when Tyrell kissed him. Kissing a man was new, but not a strange kind of new, especially when Tyrell had given him enough warning that a kiss was incoming. He hadn't spelled it out with words, not like Elliot would have before Shayla - before Shayla. He'd given Elliot other signs to read, moving into Elliot's personal space, taking hold of his shoulders - slowly, giving Elliot room to flinch away if he wanted - and looking at Elliot's lips, eyes, lips again before leaning in.

Tyrell was dangerous, but he was a danger that Elliot could at least see coming, and if Tyrell killed him - _there are worse fates_.

It was nice, and Elliot mocked himself for thinking as much, even as Tyrell inhaled loudly and kissed him harder, nudging Elliot's lips open.

Elliot cringed, waiting for Tyrell's tongue, but Tyrell just pulled back, tilted his head. 

"No?" Tyrell asked, and Elliot blinked, surprised.

"I -" Elliot murmured, "Uh -" 

_Just tell him you hate using tongue, genius_.

"All you have to do is say, 'stop'," Tyrell said, fingers closing around the zipper of Elliot's hoodie and tugging down. 

Elliot breathed out shakily, tried to find the shape of the word with his lips, but it wouldn't come. Saying "Stop" would have been the sensible thing to do, but it wasn't what would make him feel safe. Knowing that he had the option, that Tyrell would let him say it and would listen if he did - that was what made him feel safe.

Elliot shrugged out of his hoodie, feeling naked in an instant at losing its protection, but it was easier to cope once Tyrell's shirt was off. Tyrell's tie and Elliot's t-shirt followed after, and soon there was nothing between them but air.

Tyrell kissed him again, and Elliot remembered reading once that skin to skin contact was an illusion, a thin cushion of air keeping cells from touching no matter how close they got. He wasn't sure if it was true, but if this was an illusion, it was one of the better ones he'd embraced.

Tyrell picked up the tie and watch from his neatly folded clothes, an expensive bundle that stood out all the more thanks to the crumpled pile Elliot had left at his own feet, and pressed the watch into Elliot's hand. 

"I want to gag you," Tyrell said. "If you drop this, I'll stop. No matter what. I know words aren't your forte."

Elliot shrugged, pulled back the covers on his bed and lay down on his back while Tyrell straddled him. "Sure, okay."

_I shouldn't be proving his point._

Silk pressed between Elliot's teeth, and he arched up in panic for a moment before remembering his hands were still free, that he still had the watch. If he needed to, he could slam it into Tyrell's face; it ought to hurt enough to buy him time to run.

Tyrell smiled once he'd fixed the makeshift gag in face, looking at Elliot the same way he'd looked at him in the arcade - like Elliot mattered. _Bullshit. It was more than that._ Like Elliot was divine.

It was a frightening amount of reverence to bear, but easier once Tyrell stopped making eye contact, turning his gaze to Elliot's chest, stomach, cock.

"You don't like superficial contact," Tyrell said, skipping any pretence of foreplay and gripping Elliot's cock, tugging it into full hardness almost painfully quickly. "I can respect that."

Elliot groaned around the gag, wondered why he kept listening, why he didn't want Tyrell to shut up. It should have felt like small talk did everywhere else, just another stream of unnecessary bullshit, but it didn't.

The lack of pet names helped, and the fact that there wasn't any dirty talk. Nothing but explanations of what he knew, or what he was going to do.

Perfectionism. That was it, the reason why Elliot could cope. Perfectionism was one of Tyrell's many, many weaknesses, and here it took the form of restraint. No excess words, no excess touch, nothing more than what was necessary.

Elliot wondered for a moment if Tyrell even wanted sex in the first place, and felt a tightness in his stomach he didn't like as he reached up for Tyrell with his free hand, threading his fingers through Tyrell's hair to pull him closer.

Tyrell's hand was still working wonders on his cock, and he had no complaints about that, but Elliot wanted Tyrell's skin against his own. Not stroking or caressing, nothing unpredictable that would set his nerves on edge, but solid points of contact.

Elliot spread his legs so Tyrell could settle between them instead of kneeling over him, keeping the distance, and breathed out shakily as he felt Tyrell's weight press his thighs open. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had sex sober; he wasn't as distracted by little details around the room as he was by their own connection, the rasp of his leg hairs against Tyrell's, the damp heat of Tyrell's breath. Had it felt like this before he'd grown used to morphine dulling his senses? Or was this just sense returning with a vengeance?

"You're so fucking beautiful, Elliot," Tyrell said, and Elliot believed he meant it. No unnecessary words, after all, and hell, Tyrell's eyes were even watering. 

Elliot wanted to tell him that no, _no_ he wasn't divine, he wasn't flawless. But Tyrell had to know that too, didn't he? Tyrell could have stopped him so easily. Tyrell had seen so many signs, had found so many traces that Elliot had left behind while dismantling E Corp.

But he'd let him do it. And as far as Elliot could tell, it was all because Tyrell believed that what Elliot was doing was beautiful. That Elliot was beautiful.

He still didn't know what Tyrell got out of it, not really, anymore than he knew why Tyrell wanted to have sex with him. 

Maybe it was his way of worshipping Elliot. Maybe it was his way of defiling him. But if it meant being treated with kindness for a little bit, being given something instead of being exploited just for a few minutes, it was worth letting that mystery go.

Elliot dropped the watch, removed his gag while Tyrell held still, and pulled Tyrell into another kiss while reaching for Tyrell's own cock.

"You don't have to," Tyrell began, muffled against Elliot's lips, and Elliot broke away long enough to force out a reply.

"I want to."

Tyrell having a hair-trigger reaction to being touched was unexpected, but Elliot didn't really mind the resultant mess on his hand and his stomach, wiped his hand clean on his thigh.

Tyrell didn't take coming as an excuse to leave Elliot to his own devices, his grip still tight and rough, still perfect even though his kisses now were lazier. It was a strange, sleepy intimacy that left Elliot feeling loose-limbed even as he got close, electric heat pooling at the base of his spine.

Elliot tightened his clean hand in Tyrell's hair as he came, refusing to let Tyrell pull away from their kiss to watch. He wanted Tyrell to feel him gasping, but not to see it; he'd always hated being unable to control his expressions when he came.

It should have felt wrong, being wrung out and relaxed when the weight on top of him was a murderer. It didn't.

_What does that say about me?_

Elliot rolled over, pulled the bedcovers up over himself to trap the warmth of afterglow beneath them with him, and stared when Tyrell did the same on the other side of the bed.

"I didn't say you could stay," Elliot said, and Tyrell just stared back at him.

_I should make him leave._

He didn't.

"I don't spoon," Elliot added, and Tyrell shrugged, apparently content to just carry on staring at him.

Elliot shouldn't have felt safe falling asleep, but Tyrell had been right.

He could make him feel safe. Not forever.

But long enough.


End file.
